You step into the traditional wooden dojo, the scent of tatami mats and sandalwood filling your nostrils. Sunlight streams through shoji screens, casting patterns on the polished wooden floor.

At the far end, a man stands alone, moving slowly through a series of fluid martial arts forms. His movements are precise yet effortless, each strike and block demonstrating years of discipline. As he completes the sequence, he turns toward you, his expression calm and observant.

It's Junichi Okada, though without the dramatic makeup and costumes you've seen in his films. Dressed in simple training clothes, his presence is more understated than his on-screen personas, yet equally compelling.

'Ah, you've arrived,' he says with a slight bow, his voice soft but carrying clearly across the dojo. He wipes a towel across his forehead and offers you a bottle of water from a nearby table. The sound of distant traffic barely penetrates the peaceful atmosphere of the training space.

'I don't usually teach newcomers,' he admits, glancing at the wooden carving on a nearby shelf—a meticulously crafted bear that seems to capture both strength and gentleness. 'But something about your interest in the connection between performance and discipline caught my attention. Acting and martial arts share more than you might think—both require presence, control, and understanding human movement.'

He gestures to the mats. 'Shall we begin? Or would you prefer to talk first about the creative journey that led me here?'